Denial
by hadaka
Summary: Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, and you're in love, Sena. kirskipkat's Denial prompt.


**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** This is **yaoi**.

**Summary:** Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, and you're in love, Sena.

An answer to the Denial prompt from kirskipkat, from the es21_yaoi lj.

**A/N:** I _know_ this isn't what J had in mind. Also, I'm a big liar. _Surprises_ is still being written.

_Someday_, I will write something happy for Unsui. He just...he just makes such a good-looking tragedy, you know? And he's totally asking for it. Just look at the way he dresses.

* * *

On the morning of that day, Unsui doesn't go to morning practice or his two classes.

He sleeps in.

When the alarm wakes him, it's eleven o'clock. He takes his time struggling and yawning his way out of bed, checking his e-mail, and mixing his health drink.

Then he takes a shower.

It's a cool, brisk day outside, with a breeze that makes it easy to walk. On his way to the station, he gets a text from Agon, _trash 2day? _Unsui texts back _no_, because Agon tends to just show up whenever he thinks Sena's going to be there.

_liar,_ Agon sends a second later. And then, _fuck u unkofag._

At Shibuya Station, Unsui sees Sena waiting for him next to Hachi, staring at the cell in his hand.

"Sena."

Sena looks up, eyes widening slightly. "Unsui." He smiles, or tries to. The cell is shoved into his jacket.

He looks exhausted.

Unsui thinks, _He hasn't been sleeping._

"What books did you need?" he asks instead.

They walk close to each other—because they have to, in this crowd—and Sena seems to relax the longer he's there. His eyes aren't as tired, his voice not as strained, and he sticks to Unsui like he's afraid to go too far from him. Twice, Unsui thinks Sena's about to hold his hand, but both times Sena shies away at the last moment.

"There's a Kurosawa film festival this weekend," says Unsui. "Do you want to go?"

"Un," says Sena vaguely.

But there's a moment where his eyes blank in a way that Unsui never saw before that Sunday three weeks ago, and Unsui has to bite his tongue to keep from yelling at Sena.

Their hands touch briefly in the press of the crowd and Unsui resists the urge to close his fingers around Sena's.

The bookstore they want is closer to the station than they'd thought, and it takes barely ten minutes to find and buy the required textbooks. For a second, when the cashier is ringing them up and asks if there'll be anything else, sheer panic grips Unsui from the very soles of his feet directly to his brain stem and he wants to say something, anything, _anything_ that'll keep them in the store for a while, an hour, a _minute_ longer, anything that will keep them away from Shibuya Station and the train back to the apartment he rents near Enma University.

"No," he says instead, and Sena's back is turned to him as he looks out the display window.

The walk back is somehow shorter than the walk to, only this time no one's talking. Sena—Sena is staring off into the distance, into the crowd, the expression on his face as far and distant as if he weren't even there, and Unsui doesn't know what to say to bring him back. The afternoon is bright and full of music from a hundred different stores, a fall day in Shibuya, and it feels like they are the only silent ones in a crowd of laughing, talking people, the only two who don't look at each other as they walk.

At the station, Unsui turns to Sena.

"Do you want to come over?" he asks.

_Say no,_ he's thinking. _Say no. Say you're busy. Say you'll see me at practice tomorrow. Say you can't. Say no, say no, say no._

Sena won't look at him.

"Un," he says softly.

The train's so packed that Unsui doesn't have to worry about talking. He just stands there, in front of Sena where Sena's standing against the door, and he's thinking about how they always take trains like this, Unsui the barrier between Sena and the rest of the world. Sena used to have trouble on the train, especially after his face lost what little baby fat there was left and his hair got longer. He never told Unsui about it. Unsui never needed to be told.

The top of Sena's head comes to Unsui's chin. With his head lowered, Sena's hair is almost brushing Unsui's face.

Sena smells like green tea soap.

They get off the train as if they were strangers, without looking at each other. On the street, they walk side by side, but Unsui is sick with the distance between them, the space between wherever Sena is and where they're walking together by the neighborhood store.

A year of space.

In front of his apartment complex, Unsui stops.

Sena takes a few more steps before he notices that Unsui isn't there anymore. He turns back, and Unsui waits for the _Unsui?_, the _What's wrong?_, the worried look and the fingers hesitantly touching his—

But Sena just looks at him, face pale and eyes dark.

_Don't do this,_ Sena looks like he's thinking. _Unsui, don't do this._

So Unsui starts walking again.

It turns out that he forgot to lock his front door. Sena gives him that familiar, exasperated look, a look that recalls the last hundred _You're going to come home to an empty apartment one day and I'm not going to comfort you at all!_s, and in that instant Unsui feels that familiar warmth, the euphoria he associates with Sena's face and voice and presence, and he smiles back without thinking and—

Sena looks away.

Inside, Unsui walks to his desk and shrugs off his bag. He waits for Sena to slip off his shoes, to walk in, to put his own bag down on the floor next to the couch. He waits for Sena to go straight to the refrigerator, then stop, glance worriedly around, and ask nervously if "Agon-san" is visiting today.

Nothing.

Unsui looks. Sena is standing by the door, shoes still on. He's got a white-knuckled grip on the shopping bag from the bookstore and he's staring at the floor.

"You won't even come in?" says Unsui quietly.

Sena doesn't flinch. When he raises his head, he looks so tired that Unsui feels a pain in his chest.

"Unsui," says Sena.

Unsui's having trouble breathing normally. There's a strange pressure in his chest, a weight that makes the center of his body feel as if it's collapsing in on itself and straining against his throat and lungs at the same time. Is this what a heart attack feels like? He's only twenty-one.

"Unsui," tries Sena. "I...I..."

"Don't!" It takes a second for Unsui to realize that that was his voice. That choked, wretched voice. _"Don't."_

Sena's expression seems to—sort of break, like a mirror being shattered. He's staring at Unsui, eyes wide, face white. "I—"

No. This isn't happening. How can this be happening? It's two o'clock in the afternoon on a cool fall day. They were just at the bookstore to replace the physics texts that Sena left on the train last week. They have practice tomorrow morning and the Kurosawa showing is this Saturday.

It's just another day.

"Unsui," says Sena. "I'm sorry."

There are tears on Sena's face.

_You don't get to cry!_ Unsui wants to shout. _You don't get to cry in front of me!_

"You're being foolish," he says instead. He can't tell whether his voice is calm and steady or urgent with desperation. "He hurt you once. He'll do it again."

Sena makes a noise in his throat like he's just held back a whimper.

Unsui has to force himself not to reach for Sena.

"I tried, Unsui," Sena whispers. His eyes are asking, asking. "I tried, I really tried, I—I tried to forget him, I...please, I do care for you, I have—feelings...but—"

God, how could he have been so stupid? How couldn't he have seen this coming? Unsui knew getting into this that Sena wasn't over his ex, knew Sena wasn't ready for another relationship, knew Sena was too messed up for anything to work, but, _God_—

He was so _stupid_, to hope for anything.

"Don't do this," says a low, pleading voice, and Unsui's horrified to realize it's him.

"Please—" Sena closes his eyes, turns his head to the side. "Unsui—"

If this were a movie, Unsui would take Sena in his arms now. He'd hold Sena, and Sena would cry, and Unsui would plead with him not to leave, and they'd kiss and Sena would beg forgiveness and then Unsui would slide his hands under Sena's clothes and they'd make love, for either a first or last time. If this were a movie, there'd be a love scene, slow sex and passionate expressions and tears, and Sena would realize that he was making a mistake and everything would turn out fine, Sena lying in his arms where Unsui had, until now, been almost certain he always belonged.

Unsui can't move.

There's an awkward, painful silence. Sena, waiting for Unsui to—acknowledge, somehow, that their relationship is over so that he can leave, and Unsui, waiting to—wake up, to find out it's all a misunderstanding, for Sena to come to his senses, for this to not be happening.

Trying to think of something to say to keep this from happening.

_How_ can this be happening? He—he knows what Sena feels like, smells like, _tastes_ like. Unsui knows what it's like to wake up with Sena's head beside his on the pillow, what it feels like to lie on his side and have Sena curled up against his back, Sena's arm around his waist. He knows what it feels like to hold Sena's leg on his shoulder as he thrusts into Sena, how Sena likes more than anything to have the top of his head rubbed. He knows Sena's parents, Sena's friends, Sena's favorite food and TV show and NFL team. He knows what Sena's face looks like when he comes, when he's sleeping. And—that's all just, not going to happen anymore? It's supposed to mean nothing? It's just, just going away?

"Sena," he says.

"I have to go," says Sena. He's—not quite crying, not quite dry-eyed. "I have to go."

"He'll hurt you," Unsui hears himself saying, and he hates, he _hates_ that voice, that stupid, _pitiful_ fucking voice coming out of his mouth. "He'll only hurt you again, Sena, he's using you, he's _always_ used you—please, _please_ don't do this—"

"I'm _sorry_, Kongo-san," cries Sena.

Then Sena blinks, mouth still open, eyes wide, as if he himself can't quite believe what he just said.

Unsui—feels like he's going to throw up. He feels light and faint and nauseous, as if he's been struck in the head.

"K-Kongo-san," Sena says again, and, taking a deep breath, goes on. "I'm sorry, Kongo-san, but I—I have to go."

Sena's voice is desperate, miserable. And relieved.

"Sena," says Unsui.

"Good-bye, Kongo-san," says Sena. Decisively.

Unsui is looking at Sena, looking desperately, at his eyes, his face, his hair, his neck, the clothes he's wearing, the way he stands. "I—"

The door opens. Sena steps outside. Without looking, he reaches back and closes the door behind him with a click.

And Unsui's alone in his apartment.

In his mind, he can see Sena walking along the landing, to the stairs. He can see Sena going down, to the street, a hand in his jacket and the shopping bag swinging by his leg. He can see Sena reaching the street and turning right, toward the station. He can see him walking back toward the corner store, where they used to buy sports drinks in the morning and coffees late at night, where Sena likes the melon ice cream and Unsui likes the green tea mochi...

Then Sena turns that corner and he's gone.

Just like that.

"I love you," says Unsui, to the empty apartment.

Quiet. Outside, he can hear two of his neighbors talking indistinctly, a group of boys shouting as they kick a _futo_ ball around.

Unsui feels—numb. He turns. The apartment is getting warmer, the afternoon sun bringing heat through the window.

Sena's gone.

He sits, at the couch. Just a couch, now. Just a couch, because Sena's gone and they'll never sit there together watching TV again.

The couch he watched TV from with Sena. The bed he slept in with Sena. Where he fucked Sena. The kitchen they attempted to make _yakiniku_ in, the small balcony they hung out of when it got too hot, the table where they studied for their midterms and finals.

Sena, Sena, Sena, Sena _everywhere_, and now Sena's gone.

What is he supposed to do?

Unsui picks up the remote and turns on the TV.

He changes the channel to a soap opera. Because Sena hated those.

Unsui doesn't know how long he sits there. He's just looking at nothing, isn't paying attention to anything on the screen, is just sitting and looking because he's trying to figure out what just happened. Sena, gone? How can that be? How, when Sena made him all those promises, all those _We'll go to Osaka during winter break._s and _It's the Rice Bowl this year!_s and _We'll move in together, after midterms._s and _Promise you won't ever leave?_s and _Unsui, ah, my Unsui._s and _I love you._ after _I love you._ after _I love you._

They have practice tomorrow. How is Unsui supposed to go to practice tomorrow?

When the door opens, Unsui is on his feet before the hinges stop grating and he almost shouts at the top of his lungs, _Sena!_

"Fuck," says Agon.

Then Agon sees the look on Unsui's face and he stops.

"Unko-chan?" he says—slowly, almost cautiously.

Unsui turns back around and sits back down on the couch.

It's dark. What time is it? The only light is the TV, and Unsui can't remember what he did with his phone.

"The hell are you sitting in the dark like a fucking _ubume_ for?" comes Agon's voice.

Sena was always afraid of Agon.

"Where's the fucking trash?" asks Agon.

Unsui says nothing.

Agon comes around the couch and peers into Unsui's face. "Oi." He's wearing his shades, even though it's night. "Unko-chan."

Unsui—

—puts his head in his hands and leans forward until he's almost bent over his knees, because if he has to look at Agon for another fucking _second_, they're going to fight for the first time since they were both eleven and someone's going to get hurt.

He almost expects Agon to get angry, for there to be a fight anyway, but instead there's a brief silence. Agon's just standing there, looking at him, and Unsui wants his younger brother to just go away, go away, because he can't take anything else right now, he can't put up with any of Agon's fucking behavior, he just needs a while to be by himself, he needs a while to just _not think_, because he knows Agon's always wanted Sena, Agon's wanted Sena for nearly five years, he knows Agon would have taken Sena from him in a heartbeat if Sena had given him the time of day, only now none of that matters because Sena's gone gone gone—

"Fuck," says Agon.

Those aren't tears on Unsui's face, on his hands. They _aren't_.

The couch shakes as Agon drops himself onto the seat next to Unsui.

"Che," he grunts.

No. No, no. Sena's gone. Sena's gone, and Unsui can't look at Agon right now, he can't, because Sena's gone and Unsui doesn't know what to do and he doesn't understand why he's been thrown away like this, why Sena can leave so easily when Unsui's loved him with all his being for nearly two years—

A hand rests on the back of his neck.

Agon's hand. Large and powerful, his little brother's hand. Lying firmly on the back of his neck, as if Agon could hold him in place even if the ground were to fall out from under his feet.

"You've got tonight," says Agon. "If you cry again tomorrow, I'll beat the bitch out of you."

Sena's gone.

He's not coming back.

Unsui doesn't know what to do. So he sits there on the couch with his brother, Agon holding him by the back of the neck, and his hands grow hot with salt and water while Agon watches late night talk shows.

Neither of them say anything.


End file.
